


Bow to the King

by decadentbynature



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Erik Killmonger, Dirty Talk, Dry Sex, Exhibitionism, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Public Sex, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decadentbynature/pseuds/decadentbynature
Summary: When Killmonger loses his fight with T'Challa, he's expecting to meet a warrior's death but T'Challa has a far more degrading punishment in mind.





	Bow to the King

**Author's Note:**

> This is for anonymous   
> Check out my tumblr!: [decadentbynature](http://decadentbynature.tumblr.com)  
> And my twitter!: [naturallydeca](http://twitter.com/naturallydeca)

He failed. The fight that was meant to solidify him as the rightful King of Wakanda ended with him flat on his back, bleeding heavily from his nose and mouth, staring up into the cold face of T’Challa. Silence pressed in on him. Breathing slowly, he swallowed down a mouthful of blood, the bitter copper taste heavy on his tongue, Erik waited for T’Challa strike – to unsheathe his claws and sink them deep into his throat. He longed for it. Anything that would remove him from this lowly, humiliating position. T’Challa stared at him coldly for what felt like an eternity then reached down, grabbed a handful of his hair, wrenched him off the floor and dragged him over to the throne. Gritting his teeth, fully expecting T’Challa to make a spectacle out of his death, Erik grunted painfully when he was thrown chest first into the throne, the hard edge banging against his breastbone. 

“You think death is a worthy punishment for someone so weak and pathetic?” T’Challa asked quietly, his voice laced with icy venom. “I would not stain my hands with your blood out of fear that you would permanently mark me with your cowardice.”

Erik snorted, turning to glare up at T’Challa over his shoulder, “You talk a big game but you’re the one finding an excuse not to kill me. Are you playing the role of forgiving leader? Don’t make me fucking laugh. Who’s the weakling here? Come on, you’re boring me.”

“You think killing gives you strength?” T’Challa asked, quirking a brow, “Do you think that is what makes you strong, Killmonger? If that is true then why can you not defeat me? If the lives you have taken give you power, then where is it? I have demanded that you show me if you are worthy of the throne, you have come to me with the bold words that you are the only one worthy of it and yet, look at where you kneel. At my feet, begging me to kill you.”

Curling his lips into a snarl, Erik tried to get up, meaning to deliver one last punch before T’Challa stopped monologuing and actually got on with it, only for a hard boot to slam down in the center of his back, holding him down. Growling low in his throat, a flash of rage rolling through him, wanting nothing more than to cut that leg right off, he curled his hands into tight fists, blunt nails digging into his palms. This was how it was going to go, huh? Wasn’t enough for T’Challa to send him hurtling down to the lowest he’s ever been, he had to actually rub it in. Well, well, looked like this bastard had more guts than he originally thought. Playing with his prey? He didn’t think T’Challa had it in him. Don’t count him impressed – it was starting to get really old, edging into more annoying than humiliating territory. 

“What you gonna do, then?” Erik laughed, “What are you going to do? Throw me in a dungeon? Force me to walk the streets of Wakanda so everyone can see the loser? Make me your slave, like some kind of white man? Is that how low the King of Wakanda will lower himself? You’re already halfway there so why stop there?”

Once again, T’Challa stared at him, silent and still, for a long while. It got to a point where Erik became convinced that he didn’t actually know what he was going to do and was making it up as he went. Despite the inevitably of his death, the thought made him laugh. For all his efforts to appear like a heartless bastard, this man was no more impressive than anyone else. Stretching out his legs, half-tempted to make some more comments in the hope he might prompt T’Challa to actually do something, Erik noticed him finally start to move. About time, this was getting boring. Staring up into those cold eyes, Erik waited, distantly wondering how he would do it – what kind of spectacular way would this man kill him? Slow and painful? Quick and merciful? Half of him hoped for the former, just so he could have the satisfaction of never letting this man see him crack. 

T’Challa grab a handful of his hair once again. Rolling his eyes, Erik opened his mouth to deliver some kind of witty remark, only for it to die in his throat when T’Challa abruptly swung him around, sat down on the throne and, to his bafflement, dragged him up onto his lap. His ass landed on something hard and hot. Before he had time to fully register just what it was that was digging into his butt, T’Challa wrenched him to the side, reaching down to grab the seat of his pants, roughly yanking his hand away to tear the fabric. Inhaling sharply in shock, Erik finally broke out of his shocked stupor. Lips twisted into a disgusted snarl, he tried to pull free but the moment he began to struggle, T’Challa grabbed hold of his throat, squeezing so hard that it was amazing his trachea didn’t snap. Gasping for air, his skin becoming tight and hot, his lungs seizing, Erik was forced to focus more on just staying conscious as T’Challa continued to rip away his clothes until he was wearing only scraps, leaving him completely exposed and vulnerable.

“A despicable punishment for despicable trash.” T’Challa said icily. “Be grateful that I don’t do worse.”

“What-?” Erik choked out with what little breath there was left in his lungs. 

There came no audible answer. Instead, T’Challa reached down, his large hand slipping between his and Erik’s body’s. Dazed, feeling himself getting closer and closer to passing out, black spots swimming in his vision, Erik jolted hard when he felt the hard, hot shaft of T’Challa’s cock brush against his balls. T’Challa’s hand released his throat, moving down to his knee. He pulled his legs apart, bearing his shame to the whole throne room. Eyes rolling in their sockets, sucking in a deep, blissful gasp of fresh air into his cramping lungs, given just enough time to think ‘he’s not seriously going to-‘, Erik, somehow, managed to bite back a scream when, without warning, T’Challa easily hefted his weight up, lead the head of his cock to his hole and dropped him, impaling him on his cock. 

Sharp pain radiated up his spine. A loud buzzing filled his ears. Clenching his teeth together, a concoction of shame and humiliation mixing together into a noxious mix inside his stomach, causing it to recoil, Erik sucked in a shallow breath through the gaps in his teeth. Another man’s cock was inside of him. Not only that but it was the cock of his sworn enemy. He could feel it stretching him open, pushing deep inside a hole that wasn’t meant for this. It was huge; throbbing veins scraped against his overstimulated insides with the slightest shift. The muscles in the lower half of his body clenched and strained. He found himself unconsciously tightening up, as though he was trying to push T’Challa’s cock out. There was a strange thrum of heat in the base of his spine. To his horror, blood began to pour down into his own cock, causing it to stir. 

Defiled, degraded, violated – this was the sort of punishment that the King intended to dish out? T’Challa, who had been sitting still, as though he wanted him to agonize over the sensation of having another man’s cock buried deep inside his ass, suddenly began to move, his other hand slide over his side, down to his thigh and up to his knee, where it clamped down, pulling his legs wide open. 

Everywhere T’Challa touched left a feeling of grime and filth. Slamming up into him, setting a hard, cruel pace from the very beginning, T’Challa hardly made a sound – all he could hear was labored breathing echoing up from the curve of his shoulder. Every thrust sent a fresh bolt of pain shrieking up his spine. It wasn’t something he couldn’t handle. He’d experienced far worse. It wasn’t the pain he was concerned with. He’d long taught his body how to deal with it. This wasn’t even enough to bring so much as a quiver to his limbs. No, the pain he could handle. The shame, the mortification, the degradation was quickly proving to be a monster, one that gnawed at the edges of his mind, slowly taking its hold on him as he fought to remain calm. 

He had wanted to destroy everything, to leave a path of chaos in his wake but this…this was not the sort of chaos he longed for. All of his work, his struggle, his pain and misery as he trudged, bleeding and broken, towards fulfilling his ideal honor, only to come to this? Were the Gods laughing at him, mocking him for daring to defy the concrete path of fate? Were his ancestors weeping at the sight of his defiled plight? Erik’s stomach rolled threatening. A flash of rage roared through his head. Let them weep, then. He would show them that this would not defeat him! 

Struggling to keep his expression even and unbothered, to keep his breath slow and calm, knowing he was failing miserably as T’Challa continued to mess him up deep inside, Erik stared out over the heads of the crowd standing before the throne, hating them, hating every single one of them. They watched silently – some smirked, others looked disgusted (was he the source of their disgust or was it the actions of their King? As much as he wanted it to be horror at what their King was capable of, he knew better than to expect such a thing – sheep, all of them, blindly, mutely following behind this demon as he lead them towards oblivion) but many looked entirely unaffected. Their gazes betrayed nothing. There was no heat, no hate, nothing at all. 

Standing at the front of the crowd were T’Challa’s Mother and Sister. The Mother looked indifferent, unaffected but there was a malicious glint of glee in the Sister’s eye. Other than that one little indication, the Sister’s face was largely blank, distant. She was clearly enjoying the show but the others…was this a spectacle that they were reveling in? Erik glanced down towards their midsections, looking for a tell-tale bulge or wet spot. Nothing, not among those who stared unfazed. Some of the smirking ones, and many of those who looked disgusted sported telltale signs of arousal. None made any attempt to hide their excitement but none seemed to be doing anything to handle their state. Somehow, if one or more of them were doing something, anything beyond just standing there, it would’ve been better. Being a spectacle, stared at in a way that made him feel insignificant, as though this wasn’t a nightmare playing out in real time, it only served to agitate the humiliation burning a hole through his stomach. 

This punishment, it was beyond abhorrent. This was the true nature of the King of Wakanda, huh? No, he had always known that the man behind him, burning his bare back with an intense, sickening heat that made his skin crawl, breathing heavily into his ear, each puff bringing him closer and closer to puking all over the pristine floor, was a monster. He knew it and soon, the people of Wakanda would know it as well. How could they stand there while watching this spectacle and not understand that this bastard was not meant for the throne? 

Legs spread open wide, T’Challa’s large hands clamped down painfully hard on the underside of his knees, easily keeping them apart despite his continuous effort to snap them closed, presenting his most private parts to the silent audience in front of them, the bastard pounded up into him, shoving his large cock in so hard and fast, it felt like he was fucking his stomach. Throbbing veins scrapped against his innards. Every thrust brought a fresh wave of pain and heat, mixing together until they were one entity, slamming repeatedly into his mind with a ferocity that threatened to break what little hold he had on his self-control. He wanted this to hurt, he wanted it to be sheer agony. 

The fact that it wasn’t, that the more T’Challa fucked him, the more his traitorous body became accustomed to it. Not only accustomed but the longer he was subjugated to this horror, the better it felt until he could hardly feel the pain anymore. Biting down hard on the edge of his tongue, fighting against the moans building up in the back of his throat, desperately scrambling for something, anything that could remove him from the horrific pleasure slowly beginning to echo out from the base of his stomach, Erik focused on the hate, on the shame, the agony of being treated in such a degrading way but the harder he tried to resist, the more pronounced the heat seemed to become. It was like it was encompassing him, swallowing him up, replacing his desire for honor, for power and strength with the despicable urge to cum. 

Erik’s breath caught in his throat. No…no, no, no, he was going to cum. This was going to make him cum! Grinding his teeth together until his head began to throb from the pressure, he focused every ounce of attention he could scrounge together on commanding his body to not do this. He would not submit like this. He would not allow T’Challa to play with him like this! He was a proud warrior! A man who could not be defeated! Even when he was at his lowest, his pride would not be shattered! He would not cum! He would not be made to cum from this! Biting down hard enough on his tongue to make it bleed, the pleasure becoming unbearable, precum pouring out of his cock, splattering against his stomach and the polished floor, Erik made himself look at the faces in the crowd. They wanted to see him submit, to see him fail. All those eyes, boring into him, witness to his shame…he would not give them what they wanted. He wouldn’t-!

The pace of his breathing became more labored. Fuck…fuck, it felt so good. He hated it, he wanted to claw out his own insides for daring to let him feel like this. Erik’s head dropped, his back bowing under the pressure of the building pleasure. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to cum! He’d rather be skinned alive then cum from this! T’Challa abruptly slammed his hips up, burying the entirety of his length inside of Erik’s ass. With a grunt, he began to roll his hips, grinding his twitching cock against the pulsating walls of his insides. Crying out sharply, no longer able to put any kind of energy towards being quiet, far more concerned with keeping a hold on his wretched body, Erik was able to delay his orgasm for a few moments more then, chuckling coldly, the sound making him shiver, T’Challa stretched his mouth open wide and chomped down hard on the side of his neck. Sharp teeth tug into his skin. There was a burst of pain, followed by a scalding wave of pleasure that slammed into him so hard, he stood no match against it. 

Back arching, his hips straining forward, eyes stretched open wide, Erik came with a strangled cry. Thick ropes of cum splattered onto the polished floor. Wave after wave of devastating pleasure crashed through him, leaving him feeling battered and broken. T’Challa didn’t stop; he continued pounding into him, stirring up his spasming insides, his pace never slowing or faltering. For one brief moment, Erik was grateful for the pleasure – it choked him, leaving him unable to make any noise. If he had been in control of his tongue, he would have begged T’Challa to stop. Burning with shame, his body still humming from the ecstasy, Erik panted raggedly, sweat rolling into his eyes. No more…no more of this! How much longer did T’Challa intend to demean him? 

“You call yourself the a warrior.” T’Challa said, his voice infuriatingly unbothered, “The delusion that you are strong, it drove you to challenge me. Yet here you are, moaning like a bitch in heat while getting raped by a man you despise. I’ve already made you cum once, it won’t take much to make you cum again. Do you still stand by the belief that you are anything other than a worthless hole?”

“F-fuck you!” Erik gasped, craning his head around to snarl at the man behind him, “Fuck you! You fucking sick freak! You call yourself a king when you act like some kind of disgusting pervert! Who is the weakling when this is the punishment you would subject onto others?”

T’Challa gazed calmly at him, “Realize your own weakness and accept it, Killmonger. You will never stand a chance against me. You are weak. This is all you are good for, being a hole to be fucked and filled with seed.”

“I’ll kill you.” Erik growled, “I’ll kill you and everyone you love! I’ll destroy your legacy, your Father’s legacy, everything-!”

A hard shudder wracked his body when T’Challa changed the positioning of his thrusts, slamming the head of his cock hard against something deep inside him, sending a white hot flash of pleasure roaring up his spine. Hips bucking wildly against his will, Erik, despite having just cum, found himself right back on that precipice. T’Challa slammed into the spot again and again, the pleasure only continuing to heighten with each impact. Fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck! Curling in on himself, his mouth hanging open, a shamefully lusty moan rippling out of his throat, Erik came again. A powerful hand clamped down onto his throat, yanking him back. Squeezing tightly, restricting his airflow, leaving just enough room that he could breathe but it was difficult, instantly making him feel dizzy and nauseous, T’Challa kept going, rolling his hips, slamming in deep, pounding into his stomach with a ferocity that was near terrifying. 

The lack of oxygen made it even harder to reason. Limply bouncing in T’Challa’s hold, unable to focus on anything other than the incredible pleasure, Erik came again only a few moments later, his aching cock violently twitching as he added another load to the once pristine floor. Still, it didn’t stop. T’Challa kept going, biting him, his tongue trailing over the curve of his neck and shoulders, lips clamping down on sections of skin, leaving bright red marks, using his ass like a toy, making him cum again and again until there was nothing left inside him, leaving him ejaculating water and then nothing at all, his burning cock only twitching as another orgasm slammed into him. 

“Stop-“ He gasped, “Enough-“

“Pathetic.” T’Challa sighed into his ear, sounding more annoyed than anything else. “This slutty hole is swallowing me up so nicely but you can’t even manage to beg sweetly, whore? But fine, if you wish for this to cease, I will grant that wish.”

Releasing his throat, T’Challa grabbed hold of his hips, shoving him forward just enough that he was dangerously teetering, and somehow managed to go even faster. Crying out, his vision wildly flickering, Erik came one more time before T’Challa finally slammed all the way in, grunted loudly, his already huge cock swelling up even bigger, stretching him open even further then scalding hot fluid poured into him. There was a subtle twinge of rage but it was lost underneath the inexplicable wave of pleasure that coursed through his overworked nerves. Inside…T’Challa had cum inside him. It felt so…good. His belly felt so warm. If there had been anything left in him, he might’ve cum again but he was spent. He couldn’t even produce a dry orgasm anymore. 

Blowing out a hard breath through his nose, T’Challa released his hips, letting Erik tumble gracelessly down onto the floor. He fell into a puddle of his own jizz. Twitching, his breath slow and labored, Erik silently watched as T’Challa stood, got himself straightened up then looked down at him. His gaze was steely, unflinching. It was like he was totally unaffected, like that whole thing hadn’t happened. Swallowing hard, reason slowly bleed back in, though, to his dismay, it wasn’t followed by a intense wildfire of rage or a crushing tidal wave of shame. It was quiet, meek almost. Was this how he died? After being defiled, his pride destroyed by another man’s despicable cruelty? For the first time in a long time, Erik felt a twinge of fear. He didn’t want to die like this, lying in his own seed, still able to feel T’Challa’s cock inside of him, aching with a desire that he wouldn’t, couldn’t bring himself to recognize. 

“Consider your life forfeit. I will not kill you, nor will I allow any of my soldiers to do so either. You do not deserve a warrior’s or a pauper’s death. Death is too good for you.” T’Challa said calmly, brushing invisible debris from the front of his shirt, “Someone as pathetic as you deserve a humiliation that will last a lifetime. So, you will serve me for the rest of your life. You will put all the strength and power you have towards protecting Wakanda.”

Turning sharply on his heel, T’Challa strode a few steps away then stopped. Glancing over his shoulder down at Erik, he said coolly, “Any insubordination attempt will be met with swift punishment. The choice is up to you: obediently follow my every order or suffer as you did today. If you decide to be a bad boy, I will be glad to put you in your place once more.”

With that, T’Challa walked away. Many in the audience dispersed, going about their everyday duties as Erik slowly pushed himself up. His body ached. His head throbbed. He felt exhausted, sick and…no, fuck, he wasn’t thinking about that. He wasn’t going to think about the ache in the base of his spine, the desperate need to be filled up again gnawing at the corners of his mind. Forcing himself to stand, his legs trembling, he said nothing as a horde of guards surrounded him. They grabbed hold of his elbows, dragging him off to somewhere that hopefully had a bathroom so he could get himself cleaned up but he wasn’t counting on it. He paid them no mind to the guards, and they hardly even glanced at him. No one else mattered right now. For some bizarre reason, T’Challa hadn’t opted to kill him. Serve him for the rest of his life? What a joke. 

That arrogance would be the end of him. Did T’Challa really think that just let alone would be enough to deter him? Did he think that just because he got him to cum a lot, he was going to fall down on his knees, kiss his feet and declare him as his King? He would destroy Wakanda. This wasn’t exactly how he envisioned getting his chance but, despite the path that got him here, it was perfect. Deceiving, trickery weren’t really his thing. He preferred straight forward methods but…convincing T’Challa that he had broken him, that he had won then when he least expected it, he’d launch his attack. This time, he wouldn’t lose. This time, he would be the one on top. When he won, he would pay back a hundred times over the humiliation that T’Challa had forced on him. 

And…along the way, if he was left with no other choice than to ‘submit’ to T’Challa again, then so be it. Erik bit down hard on the side of his tongue. His cock twitched at the thought of being fucked by that big, powerful cock again. Not that, he wasn’t allowing himself to think about that, not right now. His purpose, his agenda was to destroy, to kill. There was nothing else, no matter what his traitorous body was trying to tell him.


End file.
